Fine Line
by Amalia-A
Summary: A chance meeting between Jack and Riddick reveals how much she has, and he has not, changed. In way over her head, Jack needs Riddick's help, but is too proud to ask for it.


A/N: This is my first work of fiction ever. I would greatly appreciate any feedback (or corrections, please, that would be pretty helpful). I have not written anymore of the story, so I would kindalike to know if anyone is actually interested in reading it before I continue. Thank you!

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"Jack."

The name was stated with such bitterness and disappointment it was like a verbal slap.

In response, she slapped him physically. Open fisted, across the jaw, hate splayed across her face.

"Riddick."

She spat his name right back.

Riddick tried to recall the last time he had been slapped. Particulars eluded him, but the offending hand had been crushed so severely the dumb fuck only had seconds to process the insurmountable pain before Riddick had slit his throat. That had been about 13 years ago.

And now here he was, slapped again, this time by an extremely pissed off 18 year old girl.

Riddick back handed her across the face.

Jack stumbled backwards, propelled by the force of the blow. She dropped into a crouch on the floor of the alley to preserve her stability. Tossing her sinfully long mane of espresso curls out of her face, she licked the blood from her lip, savouring the salty metal taste. It had been a while since her last meal. She stated directly into his goggled eyes and blew a kiss in his general direction.

"Really, Riddick? I always figured you'd be into kinky shit, but blood sports… hmph, figures I guess."

"What the fuck, Jack? You cant jus' go around slappin' people and not expect 'em to retaliate."

"See, maybe that's the thing, Riddick. I don't expect you to sit there and take it like a fucking pussy."

The slight trickle of blood had gained momentum and inching steadily towards the edge of her chin. Riddick could smell the coppery traces of her blood in the air, and _God Damn!_ did it smell good.

But this tough girl attitude was going to get her nowhere. Nothing intimidated Riddick. He was the baddest of the mother fucking bad.

With an animalistic rotation of her hips, Jack elevated herself to a standing position. She slunk towards the shadows that were hiding Riddick. Wiping the blood off her chin, she delicately licked it off her fingertips.

"So Riddick, whilst I can accept that you are a man of many secrets and ill intentions, would you care to explain to me what the _fuck_ you are doing here?"

"These things work both ways, sweetheart. I'm here cos it fuckin' suits me to be. You, on the other hand, are way out of your league messin' with the big guns. Why don't you just run on back to where ever the fuck it is you came from and let the bona fide cons get the fuck on with their jobs?"

Jack looked like she'd been slapped again.

"What the fuck gives you the _right_ to tell _me _what to do!" This time Jack's mood was not as cryptic; she was furious - with him. Why? No fucking clue. Not that he really cared.

"Did you honestly think you were doing me a favour by fucking abandoning me, Riddick!"

Bingo.

So Jack had abandonment issues. He'd known that. Hadn't stopped him from leaving though. She'd been cute. Breath of fresh air into his fucked up existence. But she and the holy man had been a liability. And Riddick didn't do liabilities. Cut his losses and fucking split the second he could. So what was she playing at now?

He had just been fucking proud he had made it through T2 alive and un-incarcerated.

Hell, he was only here because he'd heard mention of some psycho chick who would sooner slice off an intimate body part than give you the time of day.

The prospect of meeting someone who could potentially challenge him for more than a couple of minutes had induced him to find what the locals where calling, "Ani" - short for anethetist, aptly named for the way she had you bleeding your life blood before you'd realised what had happened.

So of all the monumental things that could have fucked up; this was the only thing that managed to whack him right in the proverbial nut sack.

Jack.

Here.

With a feral gleam in her eyes that spoke volumes about her slight years.

Jack continued to slink closer. Her scent was different. Riddick could smell blood on her. Hers and not hers. And men. He could smell men on her too. She had changed. If metamorphosis was possible in humans, Jack would be the fucking poster child. And she had apparently acquired herself a death wish. She'd stopped a mere foot from where he had lounged himself against the alley wall and was staring defiantly into his face. The last person to encroach Riddick's personal space in this same manner had definitely not walked away. More to the point, never walked again. Jack pouted. Irritation seemed to radiate around her like a cloud.

Riddick growled deep within his throat. There was no way Jack would win this little power struggle.

"So what the fuck happened to you, Jackie?"

A small smirk played on his lips.

Her pout had been replaced with a frown.

"You act like a damn merc, you smell like a whore…" Riddick launched himself into Jack's comfort zone, standing impassive again before she could react. She held her ground, the top of her head briefly brushing his chin.

"…and if you think that pretty face will let you fuck with me, you got another thing comin'."

Riddick inhaled ever so slightly. He detected the faintest trace of fear. Perfect.

Jack's voice was low, yet forceful, her breath heated against his chest.

"What happened to me? Fuck you. I was borderline when you were around. You _knew _that. Hell, I've probably been disturbed since procreation. But when you left? That was the circuit that overloaded the fucking main system."

Riddick's jaw noticeably tightened. There was no way in this 'verse she could pin the way she was now on him. Granted, the tendencies he'd glimpsed whilst he was around showed the makings of a killer. Kinda made him proud. But he hadn't wanted a little girl's mental state attributed to him. She could make her own decisions and fuck her life up on her own. Looked like she'd done a pretty god job.

Jack's lip twitched. So the little hell cat was nervous too. Double perfect.

"That little girl you knew as Jack? The one who worshipped to ground you fucking walked on? The air you fucking exhaled? The day you made that fucked up decision to leave is the day she fucking died. The only thing that stopped me from turning on myself was you. So tell me this Riddick, who does one talk to regarding the dreams they keep having about blood? The smell, the colour or the way it… drips? The holy man? His wife?"

Jack sniffed derisively. Her angry eyes coming back up to his goggles.

"Imam gave me worried looks when I ate my streak extra rare. Probably didn't help that I always ordered it 'super bloody'."

Jack felt Riddick's vice-like grip on her upper arms. He picked her up and placed her a foot back so he could fully see her face.

"Dont even try to fuckin' blame me." Was all he said.

The goggles had come off and she was fixed with a penetrating silver stare. Jack felt herself shift. She no longer felt in control of the situation... It wasn't something she was used to. Her stance was no longer accusatory, it was defensive. It was almost like she was 14 years old again and being told off for mucking with the buttons on the control panel.

Her hands balled into fists. Riddick heard her knuckles creak.

"Well who else is there to blame?" She replied.

And sucker-punched him in the gut.

Riddick caught her fist easily in his large hand, and held it there. He squeezed down tightly and watched her wince in pain.

"Now Jack, why would you go and do somethin' like that? When we were havin' a perfectly civil conversation?

The words seemed amiable, but the deep whisper that Riddick spoke in made Jack shiver. Something that he did not fail to notice. He grabbed her other hand and bent down to whisper in her ear.

"I don't want a wannabe killer encroachin' on my turf. Now pack up your shit and move on."

Jack's eyes narrowed to angry slits and she brought her knee up in the direction of his privates. Riddick slammed her into the alley wall, and Jack felt her head bang against the grimy brick. Riddick was breathing heavily, anticipating combat.

You got that right, thought Jack.

She feinted a headbutt, twisting her wrists to free them from his massive hands and vaulted herself over his shoulder.

Jack - one, Riddick - nil, Jack thought triumphantly, right before her legs were swept out from underneath her.

Fuck! How did I not see that coming? Stay vigilant, Jackie, she chided herself, he's not like most of the other drop kicks you have to deal with.

She rolled backwards and stood. Her movements were fluid and more suited to a dancer rather than a girl dressed in leather facing off a man cloaked in black. Once again Riddick moved to stand too close for comfort before she could react. Jack lost her cool. Her crimson lips pulled back into a snarl and she launched herself and him, disregarding any training she had ever received. Cheap shot to the ribs with her foot, an anger-fueled punch directed between his glimmering eyes and the heel of her hand aiming a hard thrust at his unprotected larynx.

Riddick swerved to avoid her foot, ducked her hands and used her own momentum to land her heavily in a shallow puddle on the floor of the alley. This time he placed a foot on her flat stomach.

Jack, momentarily winded, seethed. She knew he could crush her spine as easily as he could tell her the time of night, and yet he didn't. He made no move to continue the fight she so badly needed.

She tried to sit up, he did not move his foot.

She hit the offending foot with her fist.

Still no movement.

Jack screamed her frustration.

She beat the leg with both fists and thrashed about in an effort to free herself.

Riddick stared down at Jack. Her chocolate curls were in disarray, with small tendrils crossing her face. Her cheeks flushed with effort and eyes bright with adrenalin. Sculpted leather corset ending at the top of her hips, not meeting the low riding leather pants she wore. Jack stopped floundering after a good 5 minutes and lay on the ground, limbs outstreched, breathing heavily.

"R-Riddick? I..I'll stop. Please let me up."

Riddick moved his foot, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth.

As she stood, her eyes met his, defiant, angry, she wanted to hit him again but had enough self preservation to remain standing where she was. To distract herself form slapping the smirk off his face, Jack bent over to brush the alley grit from her pants. She froze when she heard him speak next to her ear.

"I don't know why you got this fucked up, Jack. All I know is it certainly ain't my fault. Go find someone else to blame, in someone else's city."

When she straightened, he was gone.


End file.
